


No Secret Anymore

by orphan_account



Category: Happy Days
Genre: 1950s, Bisexual Male Character, Gay Male Character, Gen, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period Typical Homophobia, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 18:50:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20363374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “How long has this been going on?” Howard demanded.Richie gulped a little, before he admitted “A couple of months. After graduation.” He still didn’t look at Howard.“I see,” Howard said. “So you two have been running around together behind everyone’s backs for two months?”Richie shrugged half-heartedly.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set between seasons 4 and 5, so Richie is 18, as established in the episode “A Place of His Own.”

Howard was fast asleep when Marion shook him awake. He very much wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep, but Marion’s face was white as a sheet and her lips were drawn into a thin line of worry.

“Richie’s not in his room.”

Howard glanced at the clock. 11:36. “He probably just got up for a midnight snack. Or he had to go to the bathroom.”

“I already checked the kitchen, and the bathroom. He’s not anywhere in the house, Howard. I’m worried that something’s happened to him.”

Howard wasn’t a worrier by nature, and he was very, very tired, but Marion raised a good enough point that parental fear won out over exhaustion. He pulled his robe on and went to look for Richie.  
There was really only one place to look first, and that was Fonzie’s apartment. He and Richie were thick as thieves, so if anyone knew where Richie was, it would be Fonzie.

Once he reached Fonzie’s apartment over the garage, Howard knocked on his door. He crossed his arms to maintain some semblance of body heat; even in the middle of summer, it was chilly this late at night. When Fonzie didn’t answer at first, Howard called out his name and knocked again.

Fonzie finally answered the door, a robe haphazardly thrown on and tied loosely around his waist, exposing a few wisps of chest hair, which was more of Fonzie than Howard had ever wanted to see, but these were desperate times.

So he did have a girl over. That meant Richie likely wouldn’t be here, but Howard had gotten out of his nice warm bed already, and at the very least he had to ask about Richie.

Howard wouldn’t say he understood Fonzie. But he knew Fonzie respected him, and Howard respected him back, maybe even liked him. At the very least, he’d gotten used to having him around in the year that Fonzie had been boarding with them. And as far as Richie’s friends went, Howard preferred Fonzie to Potsie.

“Mr. C! What brings you here? Leavin’ Mrs. C all alone on a cold night?”

He leaned in the doorframe, arms out a little. He was trying to block Howard’s line of sight into the room. Howard had been young once, too. He knew the tricks.

“Richie’s not in his room,” Howard said. “I thought you might know where he was.”

Fonzie nodded. “Well, I’m flattered, Mr. C, but I don’t. And I got company, and you got Mrs. C waiting back in that big lonely bed.”

Just behind Fonzie’s head, Fonzie’s couch, currently pulled out into a bed, was visible. Howard could make out the outline of a body through the covers. It struck him as strange that Fonzie’s date would be all bundled up like that; most of the women Fonzie brought home were practically shameless.

“Richie’s a careful guy, right?” Fonzie continued. “Wherever he is, he’s gotta be fine. You raised him right, Mr. C -“

The person in the bed shifted a little, pulling the covers up over their head. Howard spotted a flash of red hair for a moment, too short to be a woman’s.

No.

No, it couldn’t be.

“Richie?” Howard shouted.

Whoever it was abruptly froze under the covers.  
Fonzie gripped the sides of the doorframe, blocking Howard from entering. “Ayyyy, it’s not what you think -“

“So you weren’t lying to me about knowing where my son was? Richie, get up!”

Richie poked his head out from under the covers, face almost as red as his hair.

“Richie, let’s go.”

“I have to get dressed,” Richie mumbled, not quite looking Howard in the eye.

“Dressed?” Howard repeated, a little dumbfounded. “You mean to tell me you’re - ?”

Off to the side was a shirt and a pair of jeans. Richie’s clothes were on the floor of Fonzie’s apartment and Richie was in Fonzie’s bed.

If Howard wasn’t about to have a heart attack, he’d think this was all a dream. A very disturbing dream.

“Mr. C, I can explain -“

“Good, I look forward to hearing it. Richie, get dressed.”

Richie sat up, still holding the covers over him as he fumbled for his clothes.

“Fonzie and I will wait outside,” Howard said.

——

Neither Howard nor Fonzie spoke as they waited outside for Richie. Howard stared forward, trying not to think about his son in another man’s bed, a man that he had thought of as a family friend.

They didn’t have to wait long, at least, as Richie quickly joined them, wearing the same shirt and pants he’d been wearing that day. Richie must have come down here right after dinner, Howard realized. He had assumed Richie had been doing something in his room, and instead he’d been in Fonzie’s doing god knows what and Howard didn’t want to know.

The three of them silently marched into the house, Howard bringing up the rear to make sure there was no funny business.

Once they were inside, Richie and Fonzie sat down at the dining table - not next to each other, they left a seat between them, thank god - as Howard paced the room. He had calmed down, as much as anyone could be calm under these circumstances. The initial ugly shock had curdled into something no less unpleasant but at least more palatable.

He stopped pacing. Richie wasn’t looking at him. He was staring at the ground, only looking up every so often to glance at Fonzie, who hadn’t taken his eyes off Howard since he had shown up at the apartment.

“How long has this been going on?” Howard demanded.

Fonzie started to say something. Howard cut him off with “I wasn’t asking you.”

Richie gulped a little, before he admitted “A couple of months. After graduation.” He still didn’t look at Howard.

“I see,” Howard said. “So you two have been running around together behind everyone’s backs for two months?”

Richie shrugged half-heartedly.

Underneath the table, Fonzie’s hand moved to touch Richie’s. Howard snapped “None of that right now.”

“Howard?”

Marion came down the staircase and walked into the living room, tying her robe up as she did so. “Oh, Richie, there you are. Where were you?”

“He was in Fonzie’s apartment,” Howard said.

“This late at night? Richie, you really should have been in bed.”

“He was in Fonzie’s bed.”

Marion froze as what Howard said sunk in.

“Richie, what were you doing in Fonzie’s bed?”

Richie’s face somehow got redder.

“He wasn’t sleeping,” Howard drawled.

Marion’s eyes widened. Richie buried his face in his hands. Fonzie looked at him and started to say something, but Howard cut him off again.

“We’ll talk about this tomorrow. Richie, go to bed. Fonzie...just go.”

Fonzie didn’t look away from Richie, with something almost like fear in his eyes, but he got up and left the house. He apparently respected Howard enough to do this, though not enough not to do what he did to Howard’s son.

After Fonzie was gone, Richie stayed in his seat, frozen and staring at the door where Fonzie had been. “What are you going to do?” he asked in a carefully even tone.

“Richard, look at me.”

Richie did, after a moment of hesitation.

“You can’t kick him out,” Richie said.

“Richie, after what he did I’d be entirely justified -“

“He didn’t do anything to me that I didn’t want done.”

As soon as Richie said it, silence settled in the room. Howard certainly didn’t know what to say to that. Richie just stood there, staring at Howard with wide, uncomfortable eyes, breathing through his nose, trying to gauge Howard’s reaction.

It was exactly the wrong time for Joanie to come down the stairs. “What’s going on? I heard shouting.”

Marion turned around and walked back towards the stairs, wearing a fixed, slightly pained smile. “Everything’s fine,” she insisted. “We’ll all be more rested in the morning.”

She gripped Joanie by the shoulders and turned her around, steering her back upstairs, leaving Howard and Richie alone.

Richie had gone back to staring at the floor. His hands were clasped together in his lap, fingers twitching every so often. Howard’s gut twinged in sympathy.

“I’m eighteen,” Richie said quietly. “I’m not a kid anymore.”

Howard didn’t say anything at first. Richie didn’t know what he was getting into. Even if he was technically an adult, he wasn’t ready to make this kind of decision.

Howard clapped a hand on Richie’s shoulder. Richie flinched at the touch.

“Your mother’s right. You’ll feel better after a good night’s sleep.”

Richie looked at him, eyes starting to well up, before he turned and went upstairs, hands balled into fists.


	2. Chapter 2

Richie woke up before Fonzie did after the first night they slept together.

It was early in the morning, and at first Richie thought he was still asleep. His head wasn’t really nestled against Fonzie’s neck, Fonzie’s arm wasn’t really around him and his hand wasn’t really on Richie’s hip, his thumb lightly stroking skin.  
Richie kept his eyes shut, trying to will himself back to sleep. If Richie was awake now, it was only a matter of time before Fonzie would be too and Richie would have to go back to his room before anyone noticed he was here instead of there.

Fonzie’s dates usually left early in the morning. During Fonzie’s first week with the Cunninghams, one of his dates had joined them all for breakfast, and it had been thirty minutes of awkward silence and conversation non-starters and Marion pushing Joanie out the door before she could find out too much.

After that, Fonzie’s dates were usually gone before the Cunninghams could meet them, and it didn’t seem unlikely that he’d want Richie out before anyone could get suspicious. And maybe he’d want Richie out because this - this had been a one-time thing. He’d been doing Richie a favor. He’d seemed to enjoy it last night, but Richie knew he wasn’t as experienced as any of the women Fonzie usually went for.

The longer Richie stayed here, half-asleep, the longer he could put off dealing with the sharp, heavy realization that he had crossed a line. He’d have to live with it for the rest of his life. Even if he never acted on it again, even if he only dated girls and stopped looking at guys when he was sure nobody was going to notice.

When it was just in his thoughts, it was something he could - push away or down or something. But that wasn’t what he’d done. He’d admitted to himself that this was something he’d wanted, he’d admitted to Fonzie that this was something that he wanted, and he’d actually done it.

And Fonzie had crossed that line with him. That meant something. It had to.

Richie wanted it to mean something. More than anything.

On a whim, Richie opened his eyes and looked at Fonzie. His hair was somehow still perfect, because of course it was.

There are a couple of scars on Fonzie’s chest, below the nipples. Richie had never seen them before last night, because he’d never seen Fonzie without a shirt before. They’re too precise to be anything but surgical scars. Richie didn’t ask, though he desperately wanted to - but this new stage of whatever they are is fragile and Richie didn’t want to push too hard too fast.

There was something kind of thrilling about the knowledge that this might not be the end. That there were still things about Fonzie that Richie didn’t know.

Richie wasn’t sure there’s anything about him that Fonzie didn’t already know, especially not now. He was a little surprised that he didn’t really mind.

Fonzie shifted a little, and then he was looking at Richie. He looked like he didn’t quite know what to make of Richie right now. “Morning. How long‘ve you been up?”

“I just woke up,” Richie lied.

Fonzie kissed him on the forehead. He didn’t seem to be in any rush to get Richie out of his bed. Richie could live with that.

“I keep thinking this is all a dream,” Richie admitted, breathing against Fonzie’s neck. “Any minute now, I’m gonna wake up and be in my bed and none of this ever happened.”

Fonzie laughed a little. “You’re chatty for a guy who just woke up. You gonna be like this every morning, Red?”

Richie grinned, propping himself up on his arm to get a better look at Fonzie. “I guess you’ll just have to shut me up.”

Richie did not go back to his bedroom until much, much later.

——

“I think I was too smothering,” Marion said despondently. “That’s how it happens, boys get smothered by their mothers and they turn into homosexuals.”

Howard spat his toothpaste into the sink and looked up at the mirror to see Marion in the doorway, arms crossed. She was still in her pajamas and robe. She was usually ready and out and making breakfast while Howard was halfway through shaving. This thing had rattled her, whether because it was Richie or because she thought it was her fault.

“Richie’s not a homosexual.”

“You said he was in Arthur’s bed and he wasn’t sleeping. That sounds like something a - a homosexual would do to me.”

They hadn’t really talked about Fonzie’s role in this. Howard supposed it was because Fonzie wasn’t their son, as easy as it was to forget that at times. Fonzie certainly wasn’t a homosexual, unless he was just very invested in pretending otherwise and had roped every single woman in Milwaukee into helping him out. Howard just couldn’t fathom why Fonzie would do something like this.

He could assume why Richie had, at least. Richie was awkward around girls and starstruck around Fonzie. It was a hero worship crush he’d blown out of proportion and that Fonzie had apparently taken advantage of.

“You don’t suppose we’ll have to send him to a psychiatrist, do you?” Marion asked, panic in her voice. “Or a mental hospital?”

“Richie’s not crazy,” Howard said. “He’s confused is all. He stays away from Fonzie, he gets himself a girlfriend, he’ll move past this.”

“And what about Arthur?”

“I don’t trust him around Richie. I’m not sure I trust Richie around him, either.”

Marion glanced down at the floor. She had always been fonder of Fonzie than Howard.

“I think I should be the one to tell Arthur,” she said quietly.


	3. Chapter 3

There wasn’t exactly one moment that Fonzie could pinpoint as the moment when this thing between him and Richie started. Maybe it was when he found Richie on Falcon turf. Maybe it was when Richie talked him out of the Falcons. Maybe it was when Richie convinced him to come back to high school and kept trying to help him without cheating. Maybe it was when Richie and Mr. C got him to come to their house for Christmas. Maybe it was when Richie cut everything in the graduation ceremony short just so Fonzie could give a speech.

As for when things changed, it might’ve started when Richie told him, almost casually, that he thought he was a homosexual.

He just slipped it into conversation at Arnold’s like it was nothing. Mrs. C wanted them to pick up some groceries on the way back from Arnold’s and by the way, Richie thought he might be queer.  
Fonzie was almost flattered. Chances were he was the only person Richie could tell.

Mr. and Mrs. C might take something like this well, but being upstanding middle class citizens, they probably wouldn’t. Fonzie has known homosexuals and people like that, and most of them either lied to their families about pretty much everything or they just didn’t talk to them at all.

Potsie and Ralph probably wouldn’t be too happy to hear it either. And even if they were okay with their pal being a homosexual, the chances that either of them would have any ideas about how to help were about as high as the chances of the Fonz taking up the clarinet.

Joanie might be alright with it, but then again, who wanted to discuss their love life with their little sisters?

That left Fonzie, who maybe had more of a reason to sympathize than Richie knew. Not that Richie did know that, he just knew Fonzie had been around.

They took it into Fonzie’s office, because if Richie couldn’t talk about it with anyone but Fonzie he definitely couldn’t talk about it in the middle of Arnold’s.

Richie leaned against the wall. Now that they were alone, he’d suddenly lost the nerve to look directly at Fonzie.

“Havin’ bad luck with chicks doesn’t make you queer,” Fonzie said.

“What about wanting to kiss guys?” Richie looked back up at Fonzie, face rapidly reddening as he practically snarled “Does that make me queer?”

He looked back down, the flush beginning to fade. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have - you were just trying to help.”

“You’re worryin’ over nothin’,” Fonzie said. “You like kissin’ girls, right?”

“I think so.”

Fonzie raised an eyebrow. “You think so?”

“What if I only think I like kissing girls because I’ve never had the chance to - broaden my horizons? If I kissed a guy, would I like it better?”

“Depends. What kind of guys do you wanna kiss?”

Richie shrugged like he hadn’t really thought it through. Which was good, because it meant he probably wasn’t queer.

“I - James Dean? Kind of?”

“Good choice.” Fonzie patted his shoulder. “But James Dean ain’t here.“

Richie took a deep breath. “I’m telling you because - I know there are - bars.”

Fonzie raised an eyebrow. “Bars?”

“Bars where - you know.” He made a vague, unhelpful hand gesture. If it was anyone but Richie, it probably would have come across as ambiguously sexual. “Guys. Guys like that meet up, and - I thought you could get me into one.” He finally looked at Fonzie, face red with embarrassment as he swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

Did he think Fonzie was going to break his nose or something? Over this? After everything they’d been through together?

“And I’m not saying you’re - that, you’re obviously not, I’m just asking because you’re - worldly, is all -“

Fonzie took Richie by the wrists halfway through more unhelpful gestures. The touch seemed to calm him down, kind of, so Fonzie didn’t let go. He lightly stroked the inside of Richie’s wrists with his thumbs and said “Hey. Remember to breathe. I ain’t gonna pound you for this.”

Fonzie was close enough to Richie that he could feel the rise and fall of Richie’s chest, slowly getting steadier as he relaxed.

“So you wanna go to a gay bar and fool around with the first guy who looks at you twice?” Fonzie asked.

“No,” Richie said. “Maybe? I don’t know, I thought I could -“ He tried to gesture some more, but Fonzie held tight.

“Use your words, Red.”

“I just - I just want to talk to someone who knows about this sort of thing.”

Fonzie let go of his wrists and stepped back to think. Richie sheepishly scratched the back of his head as he stared at the floor.

“You can’t just jump into this,” Fonzie said. “If this is really something you wanna do, you gotta ease yourself into it.” Fonzie paused to think. “It’s like you said, you gotta broaden your horizons. Find a guy you trust, kiss him, see if you like it better than chicks.”

“I thought about that,” Richie admitted, looking back up at Fonzie. “But I’m not sure how Potsie would react if I asked him that. You think he’d go for it?”

“...Potsie?”

“I’ve known him longer than Ralph, so it seems like a safer bet that he wouldn’t tell me to get lost -“

For a pretty smart guy, Richie could be impressively dense.

“I’m talking about me.”

Richie’s eyebrows shot up, and for a full minute he just stared at Fonzie, like his brain had suddenly stopped working.

He eventually managed to speak. “Fonzie, I couldn’t ask you to...” He trailed off.

“Well, you’re not. I’m asking you.”

Richie’s eyes widened, until he was looking at Fonzie with something like awe. Fonzie was used to that kind of look, but usually not from Richie - by now Richie had gotten used to Fonzie. It was kind of nice.

“Why?” Richie asked, almost too softly to hear.

Because Richie was in the middle of an identity crisis, and Fonzie was, objectively, the best choice to help him. Richie would decide that, as great at kissing as Fonzie was, he did ultimately like girls, and they could pretend this whole thing never happened. Because otherwise, Richie would find some other guy, and the idea kind of made Fonzie want to wring someone’s neck. Because the more he thought about it, the more he was surprisingly okay with the idea of kissing Richie.

“Ayyyyy, if it’s a toss-up between the Fonz and Potsie Weber, the choice should be obvious.”

Richie’s mouth opened slightly, and he licked his lips. “Okay.”

So even if Fonzie couldn’t say exactly when things started, he could say exactly when they changed, and that was when he took Richie’s face in his hands, and Richie let him, and then let him press their mouths together.

It should’ve been a quick thing, just a brief brush of lips, but Richie practically melted against Fonzie as soon as they made contact, and Fonzie had to keep gripping Richie to keep him upright. They were chest to chest, and even if the specifics were different Fonzie knew exactly what to do. He instinctively swiped his tongue along Richie’s upper lip, and Richie gasped against Fonzie, his mouth opening enough for Fonzie to slip his tongue in.

That was how they ended up necking in his office, until someone knocked on the door and Fonzie and Richie pulled back.

Richie’s lips were pink and his breathing was heavy and his eyes were sparkling, and it was honestly one of the most beautiful things Fonzie had ever seen.

So when Richie came by Fonzie’s apartment that night, and sat down on his couch, and looked at Fonzie like that again, could anyone blame Fonzie for going along with it?

——

Marion got dressed quickly - with any luck, she’d catch Fonzie before he left for work. She suspected he wouldn’t be there for breakfast; if Marion was in this position, she wouldn’t want to, either.

When she stepped out the back door, Richie was waiting by the stairs up to Fonzie’s apartment. He was pacing the driveway, though he stopped as soon as he spotted Marion.

“It’s all my fault,” he immediately said. “Fonzie - Fonzie had nothing to do with it. I’m the one who propositioned him, I said that if he didn’t, I would - I would accuse him of doing it anyway.”

Marion frowned. “Richie.”

“You don’t believe me.”

Marion shook her head.

Richie’s shoulders slumped, but only for a second before he stood tall and said “Look, it really was my idea. Fonzie was just being a - a pal. He was trying to help me figure some things out and you can’t kick him out for trying to help me.”

“Did you figure it out?” Marion asked. She was almost afraid to hear the answer.

Richie cast his eyes down. He was about to say something as the door to Fonzie’s apartment opened, and Fonzie stepped out.

Marion stepped in front of Richie. “Richie, I’d like to talk to Arthur alone.”

Richie stepped in front of her. “Anything you can say to Fonzie, you can say in front of me,” he said, hands on his hips.

Fonzie was down the stairs and next to Richie surprisingly quickly. He lightly gripped Richie’s shoulder, and Marion involuntarily cringed at the sight.

Richie didn’t seem to mind it, though; in fact, he raised his hand to brush his fingers against Fonzie’s.

“You’re outvoted, Red.”

Richie looked back at Fonzie and nodded before he walked away, inside the house. He didn’t even look at Marion as he let the screen door shut behind him.

By now, Fonzie had let his hand slide off of Richie’s shoulder and fall back by his side.

“Richie didn’t do anything wrong. Look, I’ll be out by tonight, you and Mr. C got nothin’ to worry about.”

“Richie said you were - helping him figure some things out,” Marion prompted.

“Yeah,” Fonzie said. “He’s not a queer or anything. So you don’t have to send him to a shrink or kick him out or anything like that.”

Even if sending Richie to a psychiatrist over this - tryst with Fonzie had crossed her mind, it wasn’t something Marion had wanted to do to her son. It had been a terrifying possibility looming in the back of her mind, but nothing more.

As for kicking Richie out - no. Marion wasn’t even going to consider that.

And here she was about to do that to Fonzie. Marion felt sick to her stomach.

“No,” she said. “And we’re not asking you to leave, either, Arthur.”

Fonzie’s eyes widened, then narrowed suspiciously, and Marion’s heart clenched.

“What’s the catch?”

Marion was not good at lying. (Richie had probably inherited that from her.) But she managed to say “Howard and I just think it would be better if - if you and Richie spent some time apart.”

“You don’t trust me to be alone with him.”

“It’s not that, Arthur. It’s like you said. Richie just needed to figure some things out. And now he has, and he’ll just need some time to...adjust.”

“I just stay away from Richie, and everything stays normal.”

“Only for a little while,” Marion quickly said. “Just until Richie...settles in.”

For a moment, Fonzie was completely silent.

“Yeah. Sounds good.”

“You’re doing the right thing, Arthur,” Marion said, a little more loudly than she intended to, as Fonzie got on his motorcycle and drove off.


	4. Chapter 4

Cooking had always been comforting to Marion. There was something reassuring about knowing that if you followed instructions exactly you could create something wonderful. When everything else was spinning out of control, Marion could always trust her cookbook and her kitchen and herself.

So while everything seemed on the verge of spiraling into disaster, Marion chopped onions and carrots and heated olive oil and seared a roast, fully certain that within the three hours when it would be ready, everyone would be together and they would have dinner, and everything would be fine.

Obviously it would be awkward at first. Howard wouldn’t be happy that Fonzie wasn’t leaving, but Marion knew he liked Fonzie more than he let on. And as long as Richie and Fonzie maintained appropriate boundaries, everything would turn out fine. Richie would turn out fine. He would get married and have children and not end up in prison or on the streets or humiliated.

Marion had just put the roast in the oven, and was about to get the knives when she saw Joanie, leaning over the counter from the living room and just looking at Marion.

How long had she been standing there?

“Richie locked himself in his room.”

Marion opened the silverware drawer and pulled out a knife. “What do you suppose he’s doing in there?”

She was trying her best to sound casual and not quite succeeding. In her defense, it wasn’t easy when it suddenly seemed possible that Richie was - going to do something drastic.

Then again, if Joanie thought Richie was going to do something drastic, she would probably sound more concerned. Right now, it was impossible to tell what Joanie was thinking when she was just staring at Marion like that.

“I don’t know, but I could hear him pacing from the hallway.”

Marion let a breath out as she started chopping carrots. “Well, as long as he’s down for dinner.”

“Are you sure he’ll come?”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Marion asked in between rhythmic slices.

“I think he’s still mad about the fight last night.”

Marion pushed the knife down at exactly the wrong moment and almost sliced her thumb off.  
She dropped the knife and pulled her hand away, on the brink of panicking, but she calmed down as soon as she saw there wasn’t any blood.

She picked the knife back up. “It wasn’t a fight.”

Joanie frowned. “So he locked himself in his room over nothing?”

“He’s probably just nervous about college,” Marion replied. “Would you mind checking the roast for me, Joanie? I’d do it myself but I’m in the middle of something.”

——

By the time the roast was ready, Howard had come home, Joanie had set the table, and Richie had come down from his room. Marion greeted Howard with a kiss and hung up his coat as he sat down with their children, and if it wasn’t for a noticeable someone missing, it would have felt like any other dinner at the Cunningham house.

The phone rang, and Richie shot up out of his seat. Without thinking about it, Marion took Richie by the wrist. “Joanie, could you get that?”

Joanie glanced at Richie, almost curiously, but she did as Marion said, getting up from her seat as Richie sat down. He stared at his plate, cheeks pink with indignation.

All in all, it was a bad time for Howard to ask “Marion, why is there a fifth place at the table?”

“It’s only been a day, Howard -“

“He shouldn’t be eating with us if he’s moving out, it sends mixed messages -“

“You’re kicking him out?”

“Not exactly,” Marion said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Richie asked as Howard’s eyes widened in horror.

Joanie sat back down at the table. “That was Fonzie. He said he wasn’t coming home for dinner.”

“Did he say why?” Richie immediately asked.

“He’s going out with some of the other mechanics. He said he’d be back later.”

Howard stood up. “Marion, can I speak to you alone in the kitchen?”

——

“You told him he could stay?”

Howard probably would have shouted that, if not for the fact that Richie and Joanie were in the other room.

“He doesn’t have anywhere else to go, Howard,” Marion explained. “It would have been - inhumane to ask him to leave.”

“Marion, after what he did -“

“Richie said Fonzie was just trying to help him figure something out. I don’t think it’s fair to kick him out for that.”

Howard seemed to sense Marion wasn’t going to back down from this, and his anger dissipated. He leaned against the kitchen counter, shoulders slumped in exhaustion.

“Last night Richie said Fonzie didn’t do anything to him that he didn’t want done.” Howard sighed. “Marion, I’m worried about our son.”

“And you think I’m not?” Marion replied. “Howard, if I really thought Fonzie was any kind of threat to Richie, I would have kicked him out myself. When I talked to him this morning, he said he would stay away from Richie, for the time being. He was telling the truth, Howard, I could tell.“

Howard frowned. “Maybe it’s Richie I don’t trust.”

“Well, I do. Maybe I shouldn’t, maybe after what happened I never should again, but - I know our son. And I trust Fonzie, too.“

Howard smiled sadly. It faded quickly. “If he lays a hand on Richie again - or if Richie lays a hand on him, he’s out.”

——

Joanie considered trying to eavesdrop on her parents’ little secret conversation, but Richie was right here, and he knew everything that was going on.

Not that he was going to tell Joanie on his own, or even acknowledge that she was there. He was too busy staring at his plate like he could make it explode through sheer force of will while he thought about -

Joanie wasn’t sure what. Fonzie, probably. Whatever was going on, they were right in the middle of it.

She was kind of used to having everyone try to keep her in the dark, like she was still too young to understand what was going on.

Being used to something wasn’t the same thing as liking it.

Joanie poked Richie’s arm, and he snapped to attention.

“What’s going on?”

Richie glared at her. Or he tried to, anyway. There wasn’t any real venom in it, not when he was like this.

“Why do you care?”

“Because I’m worried about you. And I’m worried about Fonzie.”

“Fonzie can take care of himself,” Richie said quietly. “And so can I.”

Joanie stopped being annoyed that she was being left out of this, and started being annoyed that her brother was being an idiot.

“Yeah, but you don’t have to do this alone. If something’s going on with you, you can tell me.” She lightly punched his shoulder. “I’m the only sister you’ve got, you know.”

That got Richie to crack a smile. He nodded and took a deep breath. Joanie leaned forward, not wanting to miss a word.

“The thing is -“

He abruptly stopped when Howard and Marion came out of the kitchen.


	5. Chapter 5

The night that his parents had found out, Richie hadn’t gotten any sleep.

There was no way they were going to let Fonzie stay. They’d probably end up forbidding Richie from ever talking to Fonzie again, and Richie would have to go behind their backs to see him, and then he would get caught because that was what always happened when Richie tried to go behind anyone’s backs.

And all of that was assuming Fonzie would want to see him again. That he didn’t hate Richie’s guts after this. Because if Richie has never admitted to Fonzie that he was afraid he might be queer, then Fonzie never would have offered to help him find out for sure, and this whole thing never would have happened.

Richie didn’t think he had any illusions about what was going on with Fonzie.

It was...friends. Fooling around. Like friends did, sometimes. Fonzie was just being a helpful friend. And he still went out with girls, more than he did anything with Richie, so that cancelled it out.

Or maybe it didn’t. Richie honestly didn’t know.  
At any rate, Richie kept going out with girls that he was set up with, by Potsie and Ralph and occasionally Fonzie, which Richie took as a tacit acknowledgement that whatever was going on between them wasn’t going to last. How could it last? Fonzie wasn’t like that, Fonzie loved women, and Richie -

Well. That was another matter entirely.

After he told his mother the truth, that this was all his fault and not Fonzie’s, he went back to his room and tried not to think about what Fonzie and Marion were talking about, until the sound of Fonzie’s motorcycle drifted up past Richie’s window, followed by the slam of the back door.  
Richie was out of bed and across his room in a second. He locked his door, then pushed his desk chair against it just to be safe. Once he was sure nobody could get in, he climbed out his window and down the side of the house.

He couldn’t take his car, not when anyone could check the garage and see it was gone. He was trying to be discreet. Maybe it was too late for that, when his parents already knew, and Joanie potentially did too, but Richie figured it couldn’t make things worse. He took his bicycle, the one he’d more or less stopped using when he’d gotten his driver’s license, and rode down to Fonzie’s garage.

He parked his bike against the side of the garage and went inside, trying to look as casual as possible. Not that anyone would think it was strange for Richie to be there, he’d come down here plenty of times to see Fonzie, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

Fonzie was bent over a car with the hood up. Richie didn’t think he’d appreciate being interrupted, so he hung back and waited for Fonzie to finish.

(And if he enjoyed the view a little too much, well, nobody had to know.)

Fonzie turned around to get another wrench and stopped, eyes right on Richie.

Richie raised his hand in an awkward half-wave that lasted as long as it took for Fonzie to grab Richie by his shirt collar and drag him back outside the garage.

Once they were out there, alone together, Fonzie leaned against the wall, arms crossed as he looked at Richie questioningly.

“Your folks don’t know you’re here, do they? ‘Cause Mrs. C’s not too wild about you bein’ anywhere near me, and Mr. C - whoa.”

“I know,” Richie admitted. He had no idea what to do with his hands, so he just left them hanging at his sides. He just had to say what he came to say and get it over with. “But if I don’t say this now, I might never get the chance again.”

Fonzie gestured at Richie to speak.

“I’m - I’m sorry. You were just - helping me out, and now you’re - in this position. And if there’s anything I can do to help, by finding you a new place or - anything like that, I will. I understand if you never want to see me again, but you’re my best friend and I don’t want to lose that.” I don’t want to lose you, he wanted to say.

Fonzie stepped forward and patted Richie on the shoulder, almost comfortingly. “Mrs. C said I could stay. So long as I stayed away from you.”

He rubbed his thumb against Richie’s shoulder. “So you should probably head back before they find out you’re here and decide to kick you out too.”

He said it lightly, almost jokingly, and the thought was absurd enough that Richie laughed a little and said “Oh, they wouldn’t do that.”

Fonzie glared at him. Richie started to stammer “You said yourself they’re letting you stay -“

“Cunningham, some of us gotta get to work.”

Richie nodded, face flushing red in embarrassment. “Right. You’re right.”

“Obviously.”

“I’ll go. I just - will I see you again? Later?”

Fonzie shrugged. “I might skip dinner tonight. The Rodriguez triplets are in town.”

Richie nodded in understanding and did his best to ignore the gnawing sensation in his chest. Why would this bother him? It didn’t. It shouldn’t. Richie had always known that Fonzie was as straight as they came. That he had just been doing Richie a favor. (And sure, he’d done the favor multiple times, but only because Fonzie was the kind of person who went above and beyond for his friends.)

Fonzie looped an arm around Richie’s shoulders. “Hey, what kind of pal would I be if I left you out in the cold? They got a cousin. Real nice girl. Doesn’t put out until the second date. Just your speed.”

“That’s great of you, Fonz. But -“

Fonzie’s eyebrows raised, faintly offended. “I’m doin’ you a favor and you have a “but”?” His fingers brushed against Richie’s neck. “If this is about your folks, you don’t gotta be anywhere near me. You can stop by and pick her up at her place -“

“It’s not that,” Richie said. His mouth was suddenly very dry. “Well, it is, but it’s also - it wouldn’t be fair to her, would it?”

Considering my parents don’t want me anywhere near you. Considering I’m gay and I might be in love with you.

Fonzie patted Richie’s chest with his free hand. It was stained with motor grease, and for a moment Richie was terrified that it would rub off onto his shirt and his parents would notice and know he had snuck out to see Fonzie.

“What’s to consider? You had something to figure out, you figured it out, everything goes back to normal.”

“Maybe I don’t want things to go back to normal,” Richie blurted out.

Fonzie’s eyes widened, and for a moment Richie was almost proud that he’d managed to catch Fonzie, cool, worldly Fonzie, off-guard. But it was quickly replaced by a sick, stomach-churning sensation when Fonzie laughed mirthlessly, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe how stupid Richie was being.

“Mr. C’s gonna love that.”

Richie didn’t know how to respond to that.

“You think this is a game?” Fonzie demanded. “You think it’s gonna be easy?”

“Fonz, I -“ Richie abruptly stopped, not really sure what he wanted to say. “I - I never thought it was a game.”

“You should go home,” Fonzie said. “Before someone sees you’re gone.”

Richie considered kissing him on the cheek before he left. At the last minute, he chickened out, half-convinced Fonzie was going to push him away, and ended up just brushing his nose against Fonzie’s face before he left the garage, feeling like a fool.

——

Dinner that night was awkward, to say the least. Maybe it was the lack of Fonzie, who in the short time since he’d moved in had practically become a Cunningham himself. Maybe it was the glares Joanie kept shooting at everyone. Maybe it was the lack of any kind of conversation. Maybe it was how Richie couldn’t bring himself to look at anyone.

Whatever it was, Richie’s appetite was nonexistent. He spent the whole meal moving food around his plate until Howard and Marion picked up on the fact that he wasn’t going to eat, and let Richie excuse himself from the table.

Back in his room, Richie laid down and tried to read. There was a book about the American Revolution he’d gotten for his birthday that he was in the middle of, but it was impossible to focus. He kept having to start over every time his thoughts drifted to Fonzie, or Howard, or the Rodriguez triplets and their cousin.

All in all, it was kind of a relief when there was a knock on Richie’s door, and Howard poked his head in.

Richie didn’t say anything as Howard stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

“We need to talk.”

“Did Mom send you?”

Howard didn’t bother to lie. “Your mother sent me. She wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Richie shrugged. “I’m just peachy.”

Howard looked at him witheringly. “Richard, your mother and I get enough sarcasm from Joanie.”

“I’m not being sarcastic,” Richie protested. “I’m fine.”

Howard sighed. “We’re not kicking Fonzie out. He’s free to stay here if he wants to.”

Richie avoided looking his father in the eye, certain that if he did Howard would pick up on how glad Richie was. “I know.”

“How do you know?”

“I - I didn’t think you and Mom would actually throw him out.”

“If he does anything to you again, we will.”

Richie stood up. He was going to protest: he’d had a hand in this too, more than Fonzie had, so if Howard was going to turn anyone out of the house, it should be Richie.

But Richie had already said as much last night. And Howard either hadn’t believed him or he’d just forgotten.

And maybe everyone was right about Richie just being confused. Maybe it was just Fonzie and not guys in general. Lots of guys were attracted to Fonzie, because he was the Fonz and not because they were homosexuals or anything.

Richie sat back down without saying anything.  
Howard kept looking at him, concern in his eyes. After nearly a full minute of silence, he said “Richie - your mother and I love you very much.“

Richie nodded. “I love you too, Dad.”

“Right now, this might seem like the most unfair thing in the world. But you’ll understand one day. When you have kids of your own.”

Howard reached out and ruffled Richie’s hair, then turned and left Richie’s room.


	6. Chapter 6

Joanie was going to find out, sooner or later. Even if nobody told her, she’d eventually figure it out on her own. Richie was honestly a little surprised Joanie hadn’t found out before their parents had.

After thinking it over, Richie decided that he’d rather Joanie heard it from him, if for no other reason than Joanie deserved to know what was going on.

He stopped by her room after dinner. Joanie opened the door after the first couple of knocks, already dressed for bed.

“Can I come in?” Richie asked.

Joanie eyed him warily.

“It’s about the fight last night.”

Joanie’s eyes widened, and she stepped back so Richie could come in.

She followed Richie in and sat down on her bed. Richie remained standing, something he quickly grew to regret as soon as he opened his mouth to speak and he suddenly became terrified he was going to faint. It was too late to sit down, though, and Richie decided he might as well power through it.

“We were fighting because -“

The words got stuck in Richie’s throat.

Joanie didn’t say anything. She didn’t press him. She just kept looking at him, sympathy outweighing curiosity. It was simultaneously reassuring and terrifying, because once Joanie knew she wasn’t going to feel sympathy for Richie.

Richie screwed up his courage and said “Dad and Mom think that I’m - I’m a homosexual.”

Joanie’s eyes widened. Richie steeled himself for - something. He didn’t know what.

It wasn’t for Joanie to ask “Why do they think that?”

Because I am a homosexual, Richie thought but did not say. Because he didn’t know for sure. Even though he’d been pretty sure before last night. It was one thing to admit it to himself, in his own thoughts, or have someone else find out, and another thing entirely to admit it. Even when he’d told Fonzie, he’d avoided saying that he definitely was, because he hadn’t been sure - or maybe he had, and he just hadn’t been ready to admit to himself or to Fonzie.

“Because of Fonzie,” he said vaguely.

“Mom and Dad think Fonzie turned you into a homosexual.”

Joanie sounded like she didn’t really believe it. She hadn’t looked away from Richie the whole time. She just kept staring at him like if she looked away for even a second, she’d miss something that made everything click into place.

“I think so. That’s not what happened,” Richie added quickly. “He was - helping me figure some things out.”

“You had to figure out that you’re not a homosexual?”

“Yes. Because it’s just Fonzie. And if it’s just Fonzie, I’m not a homosexual.”

Joanie’s eyes widened. “Wait, is Fonzie -“

“No.” Richie laughed. “No. He’s as - not-homosexual as they come.”

“So they’re not kicking him out?” Joanie sounded hopeful. Richie couldn’t bring himself to ruin that.  
“No. I’m just not allowed to talk to him.” Well, Fonzie wasn’t allowed to talk to Richie, but it was the same thing in practice.

Joanie nodded slowly. “If it’s just Fonzie, you don’t have anything to worry about, right?”

“Right,” Richie said, desperately wanting it to be true.

“You don’t sound very sure.” Joanie paused. “Look, it’s not like there’s anything else you could do to figure it out.”

When Richie didn’t answer, Joanie continued “Where would you even go to figure that out? The YMCA?” She paused. “Would you go to the YMCA for that sort of thing?”

“Joanie.”

“Hey, it was worth asking. Anyway, even if you were - you know, there’s nowhere you could go to be sure, right?”

Richie didn’t say anything.

“Right?”

Richie regularly read the newspaper, ever since he’d decided he wanted to be a journalist, and every now and then he clipped out articles he found particularly interesting. Or in this case, terrifying, for reasons Richie couldn’t quite explain.

About a month ago (which was about a month after he and Fonzie had started this whole thing), a man had been arrested downtown for soliciting.

Richie had found the article after the first time he and Fonzie had - done things together. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it, mostly because it mentioned the street he’d been arrested on, and suddenly Richie was one step closer to finding what he’d been looking for the day he’d told Fonzie what he was worried about.  
Not that Richie had needed it at the time. And maybe it wasn’t even a big deal - Richie wasn’t the type to solicit - but Richie had kept the article, tucked away in a scrapbook in his room. Just in case.

Richie didn’t say any of this to Joanie. What he did say was “There night be. I don’t know for sure. But there might be.”

“Richie,” Joanie said. “If this has really been bothering you, then -“ She shrugged. “Do what you have to do.”


	7. Chapter 7

The next day was normal. Richie didn’t say anything about any of what he had told Joanie, he just went about his business. He went to Arnold’s with Potsie and Ralph, he came home for dinner, and then he went to bed.

It was almost ridiculously suspicious. So naturally, Joanie had to confront him. Just before she was supposed to be in bed, she went to Richie’s room and knocked on his door.

When he didn’t answer, Joanie opened it herself and went inside.

Richie wasn’t there.

Joanie closed the door behind her and went inside. Wherever Richie was, he had to have left a trail of something. He was reliable like that.

——

Ten minutes later, Joanie knocked on the door of Fonzie’s apartment, clenching the newspaper clipping from the open scrapbook she’d found in Richie’s room.

As much as Joanie hated to admit it, there wasn’t much she could do right now. She definitely wasn’t going to tell her mom or dad, not when they were already acting weird about the whole thing.

If Fonzie was surprised to see her, he didn’t show it when he answered the door. “Shortcake! Past your bedtime, ain’t it?”

He was alone, at least. “I’m worried about Richie.”

“Richie’s a big boy. He can take care of himself.”

Joanie held out the newspaper clipping.

“He’s not here. I found this in his room.”

Fonzie took it and looked it over. His face stayed neutral.

“Richie told me about - about everything.”

That got a reaction out of Fonzie: a slight widening of the eyes and a set in his jaw. Joanie kept talking. “And I said to do what he had to do. And now he’s gonna do something stupid and it’s all my fault.”

“Ayyy. You did the right thing.” Fonzie ruffled her hair. “You were just tryin’ to help. Don’t apologize for that, okay?”

Joanie nodded. “I just hate feeling like there’s nothing I can do.”

“I got something you can do. Keep your folks busy until I bring Richie home.”

——

As it turned out, there were multiple run-down bars on Plankinton Street that looked like the kind of places homosexuals might visit. (Not that Richie was sure what exactly what places visited by homosexuals looked like.) Richie wasn’t sure which one was what he was looking for, so he waited outside for a clue or something.

After a few minutes of watching, a man left one bar, followed about a minute later by another man.

They weren’t leaving together, but the first one glanced back and looked the other one in the eye. They nodded, then continued on, apart but in the same direction.

Richie instinctively chose the bar they just left.

The first thing he registered stepping inside was how dark it was. Richie could barely make out anything but the outlines of people as he blinked rapidly, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. He reached out and managed to take hold of the bar for balance.

A quiet cough caught his attention, and Richie looked up to see the bartender.

“ID?”

Richie pulled it out of his pocket and handed it to the bartender. He looked it over for a moment before he handed Richie back his ID. Well, Joe Kavinsky’s ID. Richie had kept it since that ill-fated attempt to get into the Pink Palace with Potsie a year ago. Richie and Potsie had both wanted to forget the whole thing as soon as possible, the disappointment of going to all that trouble and not getting to see any skin below the neck, and the humiliation of running into your father there. The ID had been forgotten in Richie’s suit pocket in his room. Joe had probably gotten a new one. (Maybe? Richie would have to ask him about that sooner or later and apologize for never giving it back.)

The guy in the seat next to him laughed. Richie couldn’t really see his face, so the guy probably couldn’t see Richie glare at him.

“How old does that say you are?”

Not “how old are you.” “It says I’m 25.”

“Are you?”

The bartender was out of earshot. “No.”

The guy gestured with his hand for Richie to go on.

“I’m eighteen. Almost nineteen. I only used the fake ID because I don’t want anyone to know I’m here.”

“Oh? You a college man?”

“Starting in September.”

“Congratulations. I’d offer to buy you a beer, but...” He shrugged. “Although, they water the stuff down here so much it’s barely alcoholic.”

Oh. Richie opened his mouth to say no thank you, or just thank you, or that he wasn’t interested. Except he obviously was interested, or why would he be here -

The sound of the door opening made Richie turn in his seat, even as he told himself it couldn’t possibly be anyone he knew, and even if it was there was no way they could see him.

He was immediately proven wrong, because it was Fonzie.

Richie turned back around, heat rapidly rising in his face as he considered what to do. Maybe he could get out the door without Fonzie spotting him.

No, he thought angrily. He had come here first. If anyone ought to leave, it was Fonzie.

“Something wrong?” the guy asked Richie as Fonzie sauntered up to the bar and took a seat - not next to Richie, next to the guy he’d been talking to.

The guy looked at Fonzie, while Richie very pointedly kept looking forward.

“Am I interruptin’ something?” Fonzie asked.

The guy glanced from Richie to Fonzie, then back. “No.”

“Didn’t you have a date with the Rodriguez triplets?” Richie asked, still not looking at Fonzie.

“Ayyy, that was last night. Keep it straight, Red.”

“So you just - decided to come here?”

“You did.”

Richie wanted to say that was different, but then he’d have to explain why it was different and he honestly wasn’t sure he could do that. He changed the subject. “How did you even know I was here? Did Joanie tell you?”

“Yeah, Joanie told me that you weren’t thinkin’ straight and you might do something stupid. This is the third place I had to check.”

“Well, I’m not. I’m just sitting here, talking to him.”

The guy slipped out of his seat and slowly backed away.

“I ain’t leavin’ without you.”

“Then I guess you’re not leaving at all.”

“Fine by me.”

Richie turned so he could look at Fonzie as he told him the truth: he didn’t need to be protected from this, he knew what he was getting into, and Fonzie could go home and stop acting like he had any stake in this.

Maybe Richie was just imagining it, just seeing what he wanted to see in the shadows, but the genuine worry on Fonzie’s face made Richie stop before he could say anything.

Sirens blared in the distance.


	8. Chapter 8

In what little light the bar had, Richie could make out what little movement there was in the bar stopping. Everyone had frozen as soon as they heard the sirens, including Richie.

He wanted to run, but there was no way he’d get out in time, or any of them would get out in time.

As the doors swung open and a few police officers - Richie couldn’t tell how many - came inside, Richie turned to look at Fonzie and apologize, but Fonzie had already gotten out of his seat and was walking over to the door, slowly, almost casually.  
He hit the wall once, and the bar immediately went from mostly-dark to pitch black.

One of the officers shouted “Everyone stay where you are!”

Of course, nobody did.

Everyone moved all at once, practically stampeding for the door. The officers tried to block their way out, and -

Richie didn’t get a chance to see what happened next, because a hand grabbed Richie by the wrist and pulled him out of his seat and dragged him across the bar, out a door and into an alley with lighting only marginally better than it had been in the bar itself. It was just enough that Richie could make out Fonzie staring at him, expression impossible to read.

(If a hundred other more pressing thoughts weren’t going through Richie’s head right now, he might have wondered how Fonzie knew about the back door, if he’d just noticed it where Richie hadn’t, or if he was more familiar with the layout, somehow.)

Richie started to ask “The others -“

“There’s nothin’ you can do now, they’ll get out if they get out.” He let go of Richie’s hand, only to grab Richie by the shoulders, holding him upright so Fonzie could look him in the eye. “We gotta get you home safe, okay? If we go now, maybe we can get home before your parents notice you’re gone.”

The panic Richie had been feeling since Fonzie had shown up at the bar started to fade. Even if it didn’t entirely go away, it did become somewhat more manageable.

He swallowed as Fonzie said “You’re on thin ice, you know that?”

“Yeah,” Richie mumbled, lowering his eyes so he wouldn’t have to look right at Fonzie. “I know that.”

“So what were you plannin’ to do? Go home with some guy and hope your parents wouldn’t notice you were gone? ‘Cause that didn’t work out so hot for you last time.”

Fonzie was right, of course. He was right that Richie had been stupid and impulsive, he was right that Richie should have just put this behind him and pretended it all had never happened. Like Fonzie had done.

“What do you care? Are you jealous or something?”

It was a low blow, and Richie regretted saying it the moment the words left his mouth.

Fonzie let go of Richie’s shoulders and grabbed him by the shirt. Richie looked up in surprise.

“I was worried about you,” Fonzie practically growled.

Any anger Richie felt slowly dissipated, replaced by regret, as what Fonzie said sank in.

He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. The two of them stood there in the alley, silent except for the sounds of police sirens in the distance. Richie wondered if the patron he’d spoken to had gotten out and away safely, or if the bartender had, or any of the other men from the bar.

“I’m sorry.”

Fonzie let go of him. His hands settled on his hips. He kept his eyes on Richie.

“I wanted to prove that I could do this on my own. After everything you’ve done for me - and I appreciate it, I really do - I had to do this alone.”

The sirens faded away in the distance. If the police had made any arrests, then they’d be taking them off to the station now, and by tomorrow they’d be in jail or fired from their jobs and kicked out of their homes, if they were lucky.

“And maybe I thought that - if I proved that it wasn’t just you, then they couldn’t throw you out. Because you’re not the problem, and they’d have to admit that.”

Fonzie stepped forward, so he and Richie were practically chest to chest. “Cunningham, for such a smart guy you’re a real dummy. You’re not doin’ this on your own. Not as long as you got people who care about you. You got Joanie, and you got me, and you got your parents even if they don’t know how to show it yet. Any problem you have is my problem too.” He shrugged half-heartedly. “And if I made you feel like you had to do it alone, I...shouldn’t have done that.”

Richie grinned wider than he had any right to, considering the circumstances. Maybe it was the relief of not being caught, maybe it was the dawning realization that things could only get worse from here, maybe it was just happiness that at least he hadn’t ruined everything with Fonzie. That maybe things couldn’t go back to the way they had before, but at least they’d still have each other.

“Apology accepted.”

“That wasn’t an apology,” Fonzie muttered darkly.  
He took Richie by the hand and squeezed, a quick but reassuring gesture that left warmth tingling through Richie’s hand even after Fonzie let go.

“C’mon. Let’s get you home before Mr. and Mrs. C get worried.”


	9. Chapter 9

They drove home on Fonzie’s bike, Richie’s hands on Fonzie’s hips for balance.

It was almost nice, driving together at night like nothing was wrong. Richie was tempted to think that this could be the end of things, that they could get home and nobody but Joanie would be the wiser. That maybe they could figure things out from there.

Richie knew it was a long shot, though, especially once they pulled into the driveway and saw that all the lights were off, except for one: his parents’ bedroom.

“You think they know?” Richie asked as he got off Fonzie’s bike.

“Probably,” Fonzie said.

“You think Joanie told them?”

“Shortcake’s smarter than that, no matter how worried she was about you.”

He got off and slung an arm around Richie’s shoulders. “You ready?”

“Yeah,” Richie murmured. Saying it out loud didn’t make it feel any more true.

“You sure?”

Richie smiled in spite of himself. “I should have known better than to lie to you, Fonz.”

Fonzie’s arm stayed where it was, a comforting weight and warmth.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be ready,” Richie admitted. “But now’s as good a time as any.”

Fonzie’s arm slid down from Richie’s shoulders, and his hand brushed past Richie’s.

“Whatever happens - I’m here for you, Red.”

—

As Richie and Fonzie came in through the kitchen, Howard and Marion were already coming downstairs. Marion was still in her robe, but Howard was already dressed again.

Had he noticed Richie was gone, gotten dressed to go find him, then decided to just wait here? Had he just been about to go and look for Richie?

This was the second night in a row that Richie’s parents had been woken up by the discovery that their son was gone, that Howard had to try and find Richie. Guilt uneasily mixed with fear as he and Fonzie stepped into the living room.

“I know this looks bad,” Richie said without thinking.

“That’s all you have to say?” Howard said. He wasn’t shouting. That had to be a good sign.

“I know this looks bad,” Richie continued. “But it isn’t Fonzie’s fault. In fact if it wasn’t for Fonzie, I’d be in jail right now.”

Marion’s eyes widened. Howard’s face remained impressively, terrifyingly stony.

“You can’t kick him out for that. Especially not when I’m the one you have a problem with.”

Howard didn’t say anything. He just kept looking at Richie, expression blank but deliberately so. It was impossible for Richie to tell what he was thinking or how he was feeling, so Richie figured his best bet was to keep standing tall and not showing how terrified he was.

Howard quietly said “I don’t have a problem with you, Richard.”

His gaze returned to Fonzie. “Fonzie, can I speak with you in the kitchen?”

Fonzie looked back at Richie and met his gaze. It lasted only a split second, and then he followed Howard out of the living room, but it left Richie feeling a little better. Less like he was going to collapse at any moment.

Howard pulled the blind down as soon as he and Fonzie were in the kitchen. Richie almost wanted to press his ear against it and try and pick something up, but it probably wouldn’t do any good.

Instead, he ambled over to the couch and sat down. Marion stayed in place, arms crossed, hands gripping her elbows as she looked at Richie searchingly. Like she was looking for something that wasn’t there anymore.

Richie couldn’t look at her anymore. He turned his head towards the blind, like any moment he’d be able to see through it and know what Fonzie and Howard would be talking about. If Fonzie would be moving out in the morning. If Richie would be confined to his room for the foreseeable future. If they’d call a psychiatrist to come talk to Richie until he was straightened out, or if they’d send him somewhere.”

Richie was brought out of his thoughts by Marion.  
“I just keep asking myself _how_. You were always such a good boy. I never thought that anything like this could have happened. You never expect that your own child is going to turn out to be -“ She trailed off as Richie looked up at her.  
Her voice lowered a register and she asked “Was it something I did?”

“No,” Richie blurted out. “Mom, no. It - it’s not that. I don’t know why I - but I am. I just am.”

“I can’t believe that,” Marion said quietly. “There has to be a way to fix this.”

Richie cringed, like he wanted to melt into his seat.

“Richie, the life of a homosexual is - it’s miserable! They spend their entire lives hating themselves, and - and they can’t get jobs, and they have to lie to everyone -“

“I already know all of that.”

Richie spoke more quietly than he meant to. He wasn’t even sure that his mother had heard him, at least until she sat down next to him and wrapped her arms around him. “I’m sorry. Oh, Richie, I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry too.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about,” Marion murmured, voice slightly muffled against Richie’s hair. “Absolutely nothing.”

—

Once they were alone in the kitchen, Howard took a seat at the kitchen table. He had a feeling he’d need to be sitting for this.

Fonzie remained standing, his hands gripping the back of the chair opposite Howard.

“You really didn’t have anything to do with Richie sneaking out tonight?” Howard asked.

“You really don’t have a problem with Richie?”

“I asked you first.”

Fonzie finally sat down, so he was eye level with Howard. “There was this guy I knew. Back when I ran with the Falcons. He was real forgetful. Could never got his head straight. He’d start over halfway through talkin’ because he’d forget he was talkin’ in the first place.

”He’d been shipped off to get the queer shocked out of him. He told us about it. He didn’t remember a lot, but he remembered getting hooked up to a machine. All these little wires in his head. One under his tongue. He got a month of that, and they shipped him back. And it didn’t even work, and they kicked him out.”

“And you thought I was going to do that to Richie,” Howard said, disgust (with himself? With Fonzie? With strangers whose names he didn’t even know?) creeping into his voice.

“You and Mrs. C want what’s best for him,” Fonzie replied. “I dunno what that is.”

“I don’t know either,” Howard admitted. “About any of this. But I don’t want my son to feel like he has to run around behind my back, and I don’t want him thinking that his mother and I are going to electrocute him.”

Fonzie slowly, almost cautiously, smiled.

“That’s great, Mr. C. I’m not the person you need to tell, though.”


End file.
